by France Prešeren (1800 - 1849)

Now whom for our first tipple
Shall we, glad brothers, toast in song?
Our land, us Slovene people
May God endow with lifetime long,
Where'er found,
Brothers, bound
As sons to mother much renowned!

May our home skies wage warfare,
With thunder strike the enemy!
Henceforth, as were our forebears',
May Slovenes' homes be truly free;
Let their hands
Iron bands
Constrict, who still oppress our lands!

May unity, joy, blessing
Return, may we be reconciled!
And, brotherhood professing,
Close linked be Slava's every child,
That again
We may reign
And honor, riches now regain!

God grant you, Slovene women,
Long life, O noblest flowers fair!
To our own kindred maiden
The like is not found anywhere;
From you be
Progeny
To terrify the enemy!

Young men, our future's promise,
Our hope, we raise a toast to you!
Your love for home and birthplace
May no-one poison, none undo!
In the end
You will tend
The hour to boldly it defend!

Let's drink that every nation
Will live to see that bright day's birth
When 'neath the sun's rotation
Dissent is banished from the earth,
All will be
Kinfolk free
With neighbors none in enmity.

And last, my friends, come hither,
Let's raise unto ourselves a toast!
For we have come together,
The common good we cherish most.
God, we praise,
Grant us days
In plenty, for our virtuous ways!